The Geographer's Library

The Geographer’ s Library
“Each lock controls three of these sturdy rods,” said the professor, running
his hand along one of them. “Joseph said that this sort of lock is standard for
bank vaults, though they usually put the rods inside a thick steel door to
boot. I suppose that would have been too conspicuous for a simple history
department. But this was the first such private system he had seen. Why do
you suppose that is?”
“I don’t know. Expense?”
“Surely, that would be a part of it. In fact, there are a limited number of
companies in our part of the world that install these kinds of locks. Joseph
said he would phone those in and around Wickenden today and see whether
any has records of working at this address. He imagines that wealthy private
collectors of art, for instance, probably have similar locks on their doors. The
reason he gave, though, for not having seen any, is that these work well
enough so that the police generally have no occasion to investigate crimes
involving those objects which they protect. Of course, Joseph is Joseph—he
occasionally exaggerates for effect—but his essential point is well taken: that
anyone who can afford such a complex and impregnable lock not only means
to protect but usually succeeds in protecting whatever lies behind it.”
“What lies behind it?”
“Ah, now that, I believe, is not merely a fascinating question but a central
one, too, and one that may well reach far, far beyond the bounds of one professor’s
death. It may seem, well . . .” He turned around to face the office, and
so did I. I wish I could say that there was a body suspended from the ceiling,
or a secret door in the back, or huge sacks of coke and measuring scales, but
it really looked like any other professor’s office: bookcases with books and
papers spilling out of them, a large unruly desk covered with more papers, a
computer and an electric typewriter on an adjacent small table. The one
striking thing about it was that there was only one chair, and it was behind the
desk: Pühapäev seemed to have given up on office hours.
“What are you going to do with his things?” I asked.
“I suppose the department will keep them, unless someone comes forward.
He has no dependents, isn’t that right?”
“I met his brother, actually.”
Professor Jadid turned toward me, eyes glowing, looking less surprised
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